Decipher
by Draknal
Summary: He should have been just another target, but he just had to be different. He was an unknown, a mystery. She hated mysteries. His secrets would be known to her, even if it killed her in the process. A different first meeting between Robin and Tharja.
1. Prologue

**Decipher**

Draknal: So here's another idea from the dark recesses of my mind. What? A story that isn't Robin x Lucina? I know. Strange, isn't it? Enjoy.

A/N: I decided to rename this, and place a different description. It seems that I accidentally caused some confusion. This isn't a story about the group known as the "Wolves". They're just a plot device to move things along. This story focuses around a different first meeting between Robin and Tharja. The chapters will show the development of their encounters and eventual progression into a relationship. Beware, some personalities will be slightly different due to various changed circumstances. This won't be a happy stalker Tharja. Obsession will be there early on, but for different reasons, not romantic ones. Just thought it'd be fair to give proper warning on that.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot of this story.

* * *

It had started simply enough. She had been summoned to the throne room by the "Mad King" himself. He was always so easy to read and manipulate. Her master was proud of how easy it was for her to steer things in the direction they wanted them to go. Honestly, Gangrel was so simple minded that it was laughable. But that did _not_ mean he wasn't dangerous.

No, he was very much dangerous. A point that was making itself known now as he paced in front of her.

"Ah, my dear Aversa. How good of you to answer my summons."

She bowed theatrically, a smirk upon her lips. "I live to serve, my king. What need have you of me?"

His pacing ceased. The man's head slowly rotated so that he was looking over his shoulder at her. A dangerous smile began stretching across his visage.

"I have pain, a thorn in my side as it were my lovely tactician."

"Oh?" she inquired, a delicate eyebrow rising ever so slightly.

"They are causing me problems, my dear. _Problems._ I don't _like_ problems."

She was momentarily puzzled. She had some idea of who he was referring to, but figured it would be prudent to investigate further. "They, my lord?"

"The _Shepherds,_ " he hissed, spitting out the word like a curse. "That little princeling is supposed to be a mere speck before me. He was supposed to roll over and die at my whim. That ragtag band of misfits and farmers is still alive, Aversa. I don't like that. I don't like it _at all._ "

He had sent some of his best soldiers after the small group of Ylisseans, and none had succeeded in taking a single member of the group down. The Shepherds were costing him men and resources. For this reason, the Plegian king found himself becoming more and more enraged at their defiance.

"Three separate forts destroyed, two garrisons captured, _twelve_ platoons of soldiers killed. They are trespassing on my land as we speak, traipsing about as though they own it. They are _**tracking mud across the carpet with their filthy Ylissean feet**_ _ **!** "_

He had closed the distance between himself and his advisor in the blink of an eye. The mad king had seized her, gripping her head between his hands, his nails digging slightly into her tender flesh.

"I want them dead, Aversa," he growled. " _Dead._ Do you understand? Dead. Dead. **Dead.** _Dead. Deaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddead_ _ **DEAD!**_ "

She refused to show it, but she was nervous… frightened even. A single bead of sweat was slowly working its way down the back of her skull. A dark chill crept up her spine as she gazed into the insanity dancing in the light of his eyes.

He may have been simple minded. But when he was angry, he became _unpredictable._ Much like a court jester, which he imitated in appearance, he was a wild card _._ Reason and logic didn't matter to him at such a point. Right then and there he might caress her cheek or put a dagger through it.

His previous adviser was killed in such a fit of rage, the man stabbed over forty times before Gangrel had let his perforated corpse slump to the ground.

"I want the prince's head on a pike. Actually, no, just bring the corpse back. In fact, I want _all_ the Shepherds brought back to me, preferably dead. I don't care how big or small they are, young or old, able or handicapped. If they call themselves "Shepherd", I want to call them "corpse"."

She gulped down what fear was knotting itself in her stomach. "I understand my lord."

His grip tightened, forcing the dark flyer to wince. "Do you, my lovely Aversa? I don't want them hurt, injured, wounded, maimed, inconvenienced, or disabled. I want them _dead._ Annihilated, obliterated, destroyed, eviscerated, executed, murdered, six feet under, eradicated!"

He released her from his grip, taking in a deep breath as he did so. "As of right now I am promoting you to General. You will take our _best_ soldiers, barring my personal guard, and whatever supplies you need. And you will hunt down these Shepherds. You will destroy them. And you will bring their bodies back to me."

"To do what with?"

He cackled as he spun around in a fit of whimsy, arms outstretched. "Why, whatever I wish of course! I may just pile them up outside my window and empty my chamber pot upon them each morning!"

His eccentric behavior disappeared as quickly as it had come. The crazed ruler's arms returned to his side once more and he fixed his adviser with another narrowed stare. "But that can't happen until you deliver them to me. So what are you doing still standing there?"

There was an undertone of menace that the snow-haired spell caster had no wish to test further. She bowed quickly and spun on her heel, making a hasty, yet dignified retreat. She did not fear this man, after all… just the insanity he so enjoyed courting.

X-x-X-x-X

And so she found herself standing before the assembled Plegian soldiers that had answered her call. Cavalry, swordsmen, mages from the royal library, dark mage operatives from the deepest cells of the Grimleal. Some were grizzled veterans from past years of war, looking for payback against Ylisse for their crimes. Others were in it only for the bloodshed. And others still were complete enigmas. She gave her most recent recruit a once over.

A dark mage, one who dabbled in the most dangerous branch of magic… That much was evident from the way this woman was dressed. Light cloth garb that left little to the imagination, much to the obvious enjoyment of the male soldiers if their predatory gazes and undisguised lust were any indication. She had received more than a few of such gazes herself in her service to Plegia's throne. But they quickly learned that _looking_ was _all_ they were allowed to do. Those brazen enough, or perhaps _stupid_ enough, to try any more than that found themselves victim to the deadly arts that she practiced. They discovered that she was not a woman to be trifled with, both in name and power.

But the woman before her appeared all too aware of the dark desires and mental conjurations of those around her. The disinterested look, bordering that of boredom, that she sported gave the impression that she just didn't care. It was like she _knew_ that these worms couldn't touch her even if they tried.

'Confidence. I like that.' But was it mere arrogance, or was it well deserved? 'The fact that she practices dark magic is enough to prove her strength I suppose.'

Such arts were not for the weak, or the faint of heart. It wasn't an inherently evil branch of magic, but due to bigotry from other mages, and a bad rep overall brought on by history and legend, it was tricky for those of a non-magically-talented nature to make the distinction. But the power _was_ intoxicating. It was oh so easy for one to fall victim to it, as many a practitioner had in the past.

'So she has power. And she's not afraid to use it. Wonderful,' purred the newly appointed general.

She gazed into the charcoal orbs of the mage she had been analyzing. Long ebony hair, only held in check by a golden circlet she wore, framed her face like a curtain.

"And why are you here, my dear?" she inquired. "Surely you have better things that you could be doing instead of joining a military unit. Research perhaps?"

A grim smirk appeared as she looked unflinchingly into the elder mage's eyes. "What do you think this is?" she offered in reply. "I need live subjects to test my hexes on."

A silver eyebrow curved upwards ever so slightly as she gave a lilting laugh. "Oh is that so? I do believe we will get along quite well. What's your name, dear?"

"Tharja."

"Well I look forward to working with you in the foreseeable future, Tharja."

She turned on her heel and made for the front of the room. A small raised platform awaited her, offering her troops the chance to get a better look at their new commanding officer. In turn, she knew her words would be heard now.

"Soldiers, countrymen, fellow mages," she began, scanning over the crowd, pleased to see that all eyes were on her. "Welcome. You are here, because you are the best at what you do. Killing, casting, infiltrating, you are here to do what is asked of you. Our King, in his wisdom, has decided that we need a more involved approach in dealing with our latest foes. Ylisse has not been content with past tragedies inflicted against us, and seeks to renew their crusade."

She let the words sink in as she observed the various changes in expressions within the sea of people she stood before. "They claim they are just "defending themselves" while they all but invade our country and renew their former exalt's blackhearted ways."

She failed to mention that Plegia had provoked the other country into action, be it through hiring bandits, or conducting covert raids and kidnapping important individuals for blackmailing purposes. Truthfully, the Shepherds had only crossed into Plegian territory but a few times. The outposts they had lost had been erected on Ylissean soil, in hopes of establishing a foothold from which to commence a full scale invasion.

But such specifics were trivial in the grand scheme of things. She only needed these people angry and ready to spill Ylissean blood. And so far it was working like a charm.

"Our target is Ylisse's foremost dangerous squad, led by the arrogant little Prince Chrom; Brother to the cowardly Exalt. Our task is to find him and his merry band of misfits and _end them._ "

She laughed quietly behind a raised hand. "They fancy themselves Shepherds, tending to their sheep. So we shall be the _Wolves_ that kill the protectors and tear their precious flock apart."

And so it began.


	2. CH1: Hunting

**Chapter 2: Hunting**

First engagements, as any veteran soldier could attest to, were always uncertain things. When facing down a force you've only heard rumors and hearsay about, it was difficult to map out an exact plan for dealing with any complications that might arise. How much of what you "knew" was true and how much was fiction? Misinformation was a deadly weapon in an enemy's arsenal, and in the hands of an enemy that was well versed in it, it could spell the end of a numerically superior force.

Aversa had seen the Shepherds in action before. She understood their tactics and the makeup of their manpower… three months ago. New soldiers, new equipment, new combat strategies… any of those factors would make previous tactics concerning them obsolete, for safety's sake. There was no need to throw away the lives of her soldiers when they could be used so much more effectively.

Finding them hadn't been hard. All they had to do was follow the gossip. Farmers and townsfolk often had little in the way of excitement in their lives, owed to the mundane lives and careers they led, so when a band of highly armed and armored soldiers came through town, tongues were going to inevitably wag. Praise for one's Lord or Lady, admiration for various pieces of gear or weapons… it took very little to get a villager talking. And talk they would. It was damn near impossible to get them to _stop_ at times.

Chrom this, Shepherds that. One might think they were gods in human form! It was so simple for their scouts to infiltrate a town and gather information; especially something as simple as "Which way did they head?". The _Wolves_ opted to stick to plain attire, nothing that screamed _"Plegian here!"_ so that they might blend in more effectively. No need to get the Shepherds to come running so quickly. They wanted to face them on _their_ terms after all. They would pick their engagement when the time came.

Several of the soldiers enjoyed the irony in that they were called the _Wolves,_ and blended in among the Ylisseans as though they were indeed wolves in sheep's clothing.

Information in hand, it was soon time to disseminate it, and compare that which was most common in their findings. What things were most often spoken of? If Ylissean citizens from three separate villages all made the same observation, more than likely it fell into the category of "truth" concerning the Shepherds. For other, more outlandish recounts, they would take those with a grain of salt.

A week of information gathering and a general heading for the last known location of the Ylissean soldiers put them on a collision course with the Exalt's favored task force.

Three days later, they happened upon their targets. Tired and weary after having dealt with a bandit crime syndicate, one that had been thoroughly entrenched in Ylisse's underworld. One that, if Aversa's memory was correct, Plegia had made bargains with in the past. In exchange for gold and resources, they would harass and terrorize the Ylissean people.

Their loss, while only mildly regrettable, had the benefit of putting a smile on the Dark Flyer's face. "If nothing else, they were useful in wearing down our targets," she had said.

They waited until dusk had come, and then set their plan into motion.

X-x-X-x-X

All in all, it was looking like a relatively standard attack plan. Ranged attackers were to lead off the engagement with a well placed volley. If lucky, they'd get one or two of the Shepherds before they knew what was happening and could properly react. Then the cavalry would move in on them while chaos ensued in their camp. Heavy infantry would follow, with mages and archers approaching steadily behind them. They would use air units to pick off stragglers or those that attempted to flee. Overall they would harry their every movement while preventing them from creating an organized defense. Their plans from then on would be dictated by the Shepherds response. It was only meant to be a prod, but if it had the benefit of doing major lasting damage or even, by some miracle, the effect of being a complete massacre in their favor, then who were the _Wolves_ to complain?

Tharja watched with indifference as they prepared their opening volley. Archers and mages, there were plenty of both. She herself would be partaking in the first attack.

'And then I'm stuck in the back line for the remainder of the fight. How boring…' Honestly, how was she to test her hexes if there were no targets within range? She had been itching to try one or two new ones that she'd been researching. Theoretical application was good and all, but nothing beat a trial run.

At Aversa's command the attack commenced. Dozens of arrows and spells of varying elements surged forth, arcing towards their prey.

Tents were lit ablaze, ripped apart by fierce winds, and anything inside them was turned into a pincushion by the bow launched projectiles. An overwhelming success if she said so herself. But then…

'There should have been some reaction by now,' mused the dark mage, tapping her chin with a finger in thought. A dark smirk slowly crept across her visage. 'Looks like things aren't going to be so boring _after all._ '

Darkness enveloped her, startling some of her allies as she did so. Thick wisps of dark energy swirled around her, obscuring her features from view. Such was her unique talent, and she loved it so dearly.

Dark mages were special in that they could manipulate dark, or _elder_ magic as it was sometimes called. While most persons would assume that their "manipulation" was limited to wielding dark spells, anima mages knew better. Dark mages were not so defenseless as they appeared. They could summon up a layer of dark magic to protect themselves with, much like a second skin. It was why they wore such light robes. The robes allowed for easy movement and dexterity. Their magic would bolster and supplement their defense, giving them the protection they needed against physical and even magical attacks. It all depended on how fluent in wielding the darkness you were. It was a question of how much latent magic you could call up and compress over your skin. The more capable you were, the greater your protection was.

But she had taken it a step further. This was no covering. It was a _veil,_ a _wall_ that would protect her like a defensive envelope, swirling about her and shielding her from _all_ attacks. As far as she knew, she was the only dark mage capable of utilizing elder magic in such a way. Even Aversa, talented as she was, and as powerful as she was, could not call the darkness to her aid in such a manner.

It had the added benefit of distorting and masking her features behind the magical barrier. She was not some mage then, a mere mortal creature of flesh and blood, but a grim specter that would move across the battlefield unhindered, leaving only destruction in her wake. The thought made her giggle. The fear it struck into the hearts of her enemies when they first saw her was simply delightful. Wide eyes, slacked jaws, and then… the foolish bravery. They would attack with wild abandon.

…Until they came to the realization that none of their attacks could penetrate her cloak of darkness. Then the panic and terror would set in.

 _ **Thwip!**_

She raised an eyebrow as a soldier to her left fell, an arrow in his chest. A second arrow impacted her barrier. The projectile sank into the dark folds perhaps an inch, then fell to the ground, its momentum expended. 'Not even close to touching me.'

"We're being flanked!" called another of their squad.

With a glance, she took note that indeed, the Shepherds had managed to hit them from both sides simultaneously. The camp was just a decoy; something to draw them in. _Clever._

Ylissean soldiers slammed into their half-prepared lines. Their cavalry was half way to the Shepherds camp by this point. Too far out to provide any sort of immediate aid; And that was assuming they turned around and noticed the engagement now taking place.

It was said that no plan survives first contact with the enemy. She had to agree, at least at this point in time. A ball of dark energy left her hands with ease, the Flux spell crashing into a charging footman and causing dark flames to envelope him. He hit the ground a moment later, nothing but a charred husk. 'Pheh. Too easy. Are these really the Shepherds?'

A Handaxe, flying end over end, smashed into her barrier from behind. Whirling to face the new target, she found a bare-chested, blonde barbarian hurling himself at her, another axe in hand.

She grinned predatorily. 'Time to try out a few of my hexes.'

A flick of her wrist and a small amount of dark magic, and her spell was in place. She watched in amusement as the attack sailed past her to the left, causing the man to stumble and lose his balance.

Her Misdirection hex worked like a charm. The man's equilibrium and depth perception would be shot for a time. Another attack struck her barrier before she could properly send off the axe wielder. This time, it was a spell of the anima variety. Namely, lightning. She could actually feel the barrier _give_ a little from that one. A female mage, bearing a painfully plain cloak, glasses, and a pointed hat, almost giving her the appearance of an old fashioned _witch._ She had to admit, the mage was a fast caster. She was already half way through the next incantation. 'Does she really think that will work?'

Lightning struck home once more, causing her dark cloak to shudder once more. But this time she was ready for it. She had reinforced it further, anticipating the attack. A blast from her Flux tome was the answer to her fellow caster's attack.

The Shepherd leapt away from the incoming magical projectile, dodging the majority of the blast, but it wasn't enough to avoid getting her arm singed. The dark flames were quenched by a fluctuation of her own magic. So… the woman had a high magical aptitude, and could take some hits of the magic variety. Good to know.

She stumbled forward when a blow from her side careened into her protective shield once more. It was only a glancing hit, from what she could feel. She whirled around and launched another Flux spell, striking the blonde man from before dead center. He was back on his feet already? Even more shocking was that he was actually somewhat fighting off her hex. He was still off-balance and stumbling, but forcing himself to move all the same. Interesting. To Tharja's immense surprising, he weathered the hit _extremely_ well. The flames licked at him, but they didn't seem to do much more than annoy him. He flexed momentarily… and the flames were no more.

"Aww yeah! Gonna take more than that to take down Teach!" he cried, hefting his axe once more.

'What the hell is this guy?' the dark mage found herself wondering. 'Looks like I get to play seriously for once.'

It was time to try out some of her bigger hexes.

X-x-X-x-X

"How are we faring Robin?"

The addressed tactician glanced to his friend, the oldest sibling of Ylisse's Exalt. The man's blue hair danced in the evening breeze as he drove his blade through another Plegian mook.

"I'll reassess our situation in a minute Chrom," he replied, dodging a strike from a lance wielding knight. The thickly armored man offered him no quarter as he continued to advance on the snow haired youth.

Seizing the shaft of the man's polearm after an overextended thrust, Robin pulled himself closer to the wall of steel and slammed an electrified hand into the Plegian's chest plate. A scream, tore itself from the armor as the man within was cooked in a torrent of electricity. The smoking wreck teetered and collapsed onto its side, moving no more.

"I appreciate the help, by the way," he muttered with blatant sarcasm.

His companion was busy scanning the area for immediate threats. "It looked like you had things well in hand." A glare was leveled his way. "Look, if it makes you feel better, I'll stick with you and protect you from the big, bad Plegians."

He received another dose of the tactician's glare for his troubles. This in turn gained a bark of laughter from the Lord. "But in all seriousness, how are we looking right now?"

The amnesiac was scanning for his allies. Of their standard Ylissean troops, it looked like they had taken some losses. The core group of Shepherds, however, were still in one piece, so far as he could see. They were winning though, as he figured they would be.

"It's strange, Chrom. This group seems organized. More so than the usual Plegian strike squads we see. They had an actual plan for catching us off guard and picking us apart. We haven't seen that level of planning before. What's more, they've actually managed to set up a respectable defense against our counterattack. Whoever's in charge, they've managed to keep a level head and keep their troops in line."

The royal's cerulean eyes flicked to his ally for a moment. "So you're telling me that they've started pulling out the big guns."

Robin nodded in return. "Seems like it."

An optimistic grin overtook the prince's face. "Good. Then that means Gangrel will be out _that_ many more competent soldiers when the time comes to take the fight to him."

"Yes, I suppose that's one way to… Chrom?"

The Lord directed his attention to his friend, who sat gazing into the distance eastward. "Robin? Everything okay?"

"I don't know. Take a look out there and tell me if you see anything out of place."

He squinted in an effort to sharpen his vision. There was something in the distance that looked… what was that? It was like a raging inferno of darkness, just blooming in the distance. A trick of the light, or lack thereof perhaps? "Robin. Tell me I'm not seeing things."

His friend grunted in reply, caught between humor and sarcasm. "That depends on what you see. If it's a large outpouring of dark magic, then yes, you aren't imagining it. Not unless I'm hallucinating as well."

The mood turned serious as the Exalt's brother contemplated the situation. "Risen?"

The tactician wanted to deny the possibility at first, but held back on giving a solid answer. In truth, they knew very little of the Risen. What if this was a new variation of undead enemy? Dealing with Risen, on top of their current Plegian foes, would not favor them. They were tired from their recent endeavors, and adding more enemies to the mix would not bode well in the long run. If they were indeed members of the undead menace, they would need to consider the possibility of a tactical withdrawal.

"I… don't think so. Risen aren't known for being subtle, and whatever that is, it is certainly gaining itself some attention. And none of the creatures we've fought so far have a propensity for such large displays of magic. But I suppose anything's possible."

Chrom frowned at the man's analysis. 'So in other words, we're still in the dark about whatever that thing is. Lovely.'

"Who do we have over that way?"

"Vaike and Miriel." The response was quick and concise, as expected of the amnesiac. He kept tabs on each member of the Shepherds while orchestrating the events of the battlefield. "Chrom, I'm heading out to provide support. You hold things down here and lend aid to whomever looks like they need it."

The blunette took a moment to consider those words. While he was not opposed to his friend taking part in the battles he directed, he was loathe to assume tactical command in his place. His place was on the front lines, not leading from the back. Still, Robin would not have asked if he didn't think him capable of handling the situation.

"Alright. But be careful."

"Always am," answered the snow haired man as he departed for the eastern field. "And hopefully I can get some information on whatever that _thing_ is."

X-x-X-x-X

"Gah! Dang, that is seriously starting to sting!"

Vaike looked down at his tender, burnt flesh. Half of his exposed chest was covered in burns. The wounds were beginning to take their toll, and he could tell. As boastful as he was, even _he_ knew that he had physical limitations to abide by. Too much more from the thing in front of him and he'd be clocking out for good.

"Indeed. I suspect our foe is in far better shape than ourselves."

The mage of the duo adjusted her glasses slightly as she took her place by her ally's side. Her opponent's dark spells had become far stronger, utilizing variants of the magic she had never encountered before. The standard Flux spell wasn't cutting it, so it had moved on to something with more potency. Miriel could attest to that personally. While she was far from immune to the effects of most harmful spells, her resistance to magic was nothing to scoff at. Years of honing her magical talent had allowed her to shrug off most mediocre spells thrown her way.

'These however, are _far_ more than average. This creature's magic reserves must be immense to allow for such devastating casts while simultaneously maintaining that barrier.'

"Has your vision returned fully yet?"

The blonde shook his head, indicating a negative. "Nah, still can't see more than a foot in front of my face."

A small huff of annoyance escaped the man's partner. "Then we are still at a disadvantage. I can only assume this creature is responsible for your ailment. Defeating it should restore you to your former condition."

"Let's hope so! Teach doesn't want to be a blind axe hermit!"

All throughout the exchange, their foe had been handling the newest set of interference thrown her way, Ylissean soldiers. Standard foot soldiers, but irritating enough to get in her way and allow the two Shepherds to recuperate momentarily.

'Damned fools, get out of my way!'

Darkness flared, consuming two of the unfortunate men with a Ruin spell. Two lance impacts struck her shadow cloak, but it held. She could feel her reserves draining away. This fight had gone on longer than she initially had intended. But if nothing else, it was giving her the chance to flex her magical might. There had been no shortage of hex targets after all. The blonde idiot had even made for a decent guinea pig for her Blindness hex. It seemed to work like a charm, if the man's stumbling attempts at maneuvering the battlefield were any indication. The female mage, however, had shrugged off the blindness within a minute or so. No small loss. It just meant that her technique required a little tweaking.

"Soldiers, disengage!" barked a new voice. "Miriel, give me a fireball on the target. Vaike, axe ready!"

The men that were left around her pulled away from the fight, relief evident in many of their faces.

"Understood."

"Can't see worth a damn right now, student of mine! Teach is gonna need some direction!"

A bolt of lightning impacted her side as she searched for the source of the voice. Tharja rounded on the individual responsible, a spell all ready at her fingertips. A man with white hair was charging her way, tome out and electricity arcing across his other hand. 'A mage. Okay, let's see what you can do.'

She discharged the spell as the man neared her position. He responded in kind, aiming straight for the projectile she had launched his way. The result of the two spells colliding was nothing short of explosive, kicking up dust and blinding both parties.

To her surprise, the crazy bastard had charged right through the explosion. And what was more, he had swapped his tome for a steel sword. A hastily casted Misdirection hex was thrown his way. 'No need to allow him to get too close after all.'

Now for the other two.

She staggered slightly as the previously requested fireball splashed across her shadow cloak. While she was protected from the burning effects, she could still feel the heat of the flames through her magical obstruction.

"Vaike, two steps to your right, as hard as you can straight ahead!"

The blonde man grinned in delight as he cranked his arm back. "Aww yeah, and here comes the windup!"

'As if I'll let myself get hit by that.' She was almost insulted that they thought that might work.

A blade bit into her cloak from behind. 'What the-?'

She pivoted away from her attacker, finding the white haired man from before, and right in her face no less! 'How did he- He still hit me?'

She tossed a Blindness hex his way this time, jumping back to put some distance between them as she did so. He followed her path to the letter and struck again. 'Unaffected? He resisted it!? But how? '

Robin struck once more, his blade attempting to find purchase on the thing's skin. If it even had any, that was. 'It's like trying to cut through foam!'

The immediate attack would lose its momentum upon striking the strange darkness that surrounded the… creature? Person? He assumed it was a person, since he could make out a vague humanoid shape behind the veil of dark energy. But upon trying to push further, he could feel resistance on the blade, as if the magic itself was forcing the weapon away.

He could only imagine its surprise when Vaike's axe found its mark, striking the thing dead center in its back. That coupled with his frontal attack pushed it hard enough to topple it over, thought that damnable barrier still persisted. 'How the hell do we kill this thing?'

He was saved from thinking further on it when a flash of light engulfed the creature, whisking it away from the battlefield.

…

Tharja found herself disoriented slightly upon landing on the ground once more. Being knocked off balance was bad enough, and by the efforts of a blind man no less! How embarrassing…

"Nice of you to join me." The haughty sarcasm identified the speaker as her commanding officer.

She allowed her cloak of darkness to dissipate, revealing her robed form to the world around her once more. Immediately the strain of maintaining her personal protective skill vanished, allowing her to breathe a sigh of relief. She glanced at Aversa, sizing the woman up.

The general had dismounted her Pegasus, opting to stand for the moment. A few scrapes here and there, but overall she seemed no worse for wear. In her hand was a staff, a Rescue staff if she had to guess, based on the glowing red gem and wings that made up the head of the item. That explained her timely departure from the field of combat.

'She'd better not be expecting gratitude. I could have handled that situation.'

"I believe it is time we called a retreat, for the moment. We have what we came for."

It took a great deal of effort not to snort in derision at the woman's words. "The last I checked, we haven't killed the Shepherds," she quipped.

"And I didn't expect us to," came the retort. She honestly sounded unconcerned with the outcome of their first engagement. "This was about gathering intel on their strengths, tactics, and fighting style. We have enough for now to formulate a new strategy."

With that said she cast a fireball into the night sky, illuminating the field of battle momentarily. Her men knew what it meant. _Disengage and retreat._

And they did. The Shepherds, exhausted as they were, opted not to pursue. Thus did their first encounter come to an end.

X-x-X-x-X

 _ **CRASH!**_

A once expensive looking vase exploded against the wall in one of the rooms of the inn the _Wolves_ had retired to for the night to lick their wounds and regroup.

Tharja, breathing ragged and uneven, arm still extended from the throw, stood alone in the room she had been given. It made no sense. None at all.

"How the hell did he resist my hexes!?"

It was unprecedented. No one did that. _**No one.**_ It just didn't happen. This was an established fact. Case in point. An hour ago she had used a weak sneezing hex on Aversa. The woman had been stuck suffering the continuous ailment for a minute straight before Tharja had opted to release her from the torment.

That woman was one of the strongest dark magic users she had ever encountered. If _she_ was affected by her hexing magic, then _anyone_ was.

Just for good measure, she had spent the past hour stalking around the in and hexing various soldiers of their group. The result was the same. The negative effects of the magic would produce immediate results. Nausea hexes caused their targets to collapse and empty their stomachs. Terror hexes made the victim cry out and torment as they tried to fend off a horror created of their own mind. And yet _none_ of the various Plegians stood a chance against her work. They were affected. Every last one…

So how in the world had the man with the snow colored hair and oddly colored cloak brushed them off as though they were nothing?

'Maybe I miscast them?'

She dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come. That would imply that the problem lie with _her_. Her hexes were a work of art, and more of a talent than a hobby. While she might pass off the failure of the Blindess hex in taking effect, as it was a relatively new work in progress, it was inexcusable to think she had screwed up a Misdirection hex. That was one of the first ones she had ever created. She had been practicing it for years! Such incompetence would be unforgivable.

'An enchantment on something he was wearing then? Warding magic? An artifact?' No she would have sensed it if something _that_ powerful was on his person.

"What the hell _is_ he? What makes him so special? _I have to know_."

Her whispered words were heard only by the room itself.


End file.
